


In a Landscape

by sorteparaplyer



Series: Angst [12]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Angst, Caretaking, Cows, Dubious Consent, Human Cows, Humiliation, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Klaus is a cow, M/M, Milking, Sibling Incest, cow-boys, don't mind me just writing id fic, not technically wg but wg adjacent kinks at least in my world
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 19:20:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29905839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sorteparaplyer/pseuds/sorteparaplyer
Summary: Klaus runs into some trouble in the sixties, when some cops discover that he's not wholly human
Relationships: Ben Hargreeves & Klaus Hargreeves, Klaus Hargreeves/Luther Hargreeves
Series: Angst [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1802350
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	In a Landscape

Klaus knows he’s in trouble the second he catches the cop eyeing him in the rear view mirror. He knows that look, and he knows that any cop who wants something from him will eventually take it. That’s a lesson he’s learned many times over.

Maybe it starts off with him ransacking a corner store, or with a drug deal gone sideways. Or, in this case, with getting himself thrown out of a diner. If he can’t outrun the cops, he’ll do his level best to annoy them. And with any luck, they’ll hate his guts by the time they’re cinching cuffs around his bony wrists.

If he’s not so lucky, he’ll start to notice furtive, considering glances in the squad car’s rear view mirror.

By the time they get to the station, the cop will have convinced himself that Klaus is enough of a whore, a slut, or a faggot to want whatever he’s decided to do to him. At least that’s what they all tell themselves, and they often tell it to Klaus too.

The real trouble starts when they pull down his pants and stumble upon the tiny teats dotting his lower belly.

Living like he does, sleeping rough, never knowing where his next meal will come from—he’s never been the picture of perfect health. It doesn’t change the fact that he’s a cow, but it did cause his udder to shrink nearly to nonexistence. His milk dried up years ago. His four teats became too small to pinch, let alone to pull on with a closed fist. No one would know he’s a cow just by looking at him.

But when the cops find out, it always gets worse for him.

Klaus’ status was a secret during the Umbrella Academy days. No one could know that Reginald Hargreeves’ team of superpowered children wasn’t completely whole-human. There wasn’t much to conceal once he got into drugs and his milk went dry, but it was still generally safer that people didn’t know.

Cows are allowed to move in society just like anyone else. There’s no law that says they have to stay on a farm or that they’re required to produce milk. The vast majority of cows do, but he’s not doing anything wrong by living like he is. Still, there’s the lingering old-fashioned sense that Klaus is just an animal, that his purpose is to give to whole-humans, that he can be used and discarded.

He’s learned that someone who holds that belief will take whatever they want from him, as violently as they please.

So he knows, as soon as he sees that look in the cop’s eye, what will happen once his little secret is discovered. Except this time it’s not so little, because Klaus is sober, he’s been eating enough for the past week, and his milk has started to come back in. It’s not much, but his udder is fuller than it’s been since he was a teenager.

The eyes slide from the mirror, over to the man in the passenger seat. “You know,” he says. “I think we’ve got ourselves a little moo cow.”

Klaus' jaw drops, shocked to be discovered with his pants still on. His hands wrap protectively around the bulge at his pelvis.

“What?” the partner questions. There’s no doubt he’s replaying the scene they caused as they chased Klaus through the streets. “He don’t look like no cow to me,” he decides. “Too skinny.”

“Would you put money on it?”

“I’d wager a dollar.”

The squad car pulls off sharply to the side of the road.

Klaus has been unusually cooperative thus far. He knows when he’s beat, and he’s afraid to push his luck in the current decade. So he stays where he is when the car door swings open. He keeps his mouth shut and allows himself to be pushed back onto the bench seat.

The first cop points low on Klaus’ stomach, where an unmistakable outward curve strains against his pants. “Pretty sure it ain’t pregnant,” the cop says. “And it ain’t fat, you said so yourself.”

“Can’t be an udder,” the partner says. “Never heard of a cow’t didn’t hang its teats between its knees.” He’s intrigued though, Klaus can hear it in his voice, and he knows they’re going to satisfy their curiosity. 

He holds still as clumsy fingers unbutton his pants and open his fly.

It’s only been a few days since Klaus realized he was making milk again. And he’d had a lot going on at the time, between the family drama and the apocalypse. He had told himself that no one would notice the slight but growing swell of his udder. It was easier than trying to remember all the tricks he’d used to conceal his status, back when he had to worry about being on TV and pleasing his father.

He should’ve started racking his brain as soon as he woke up in the sixties. He should’ve anticipated something like this happening.

His palms still sting from being thrown out of the diner. His knees are skinned beneath his pantlegs. And his cheeks burn hot as his pants are pulled down over his udder and his four little teats spring up.

“Well, I’ll be damned.”

“I told ya.”

“It still don’t look healthy to me. Teats are too small. And what the hell is a cow doing wandering into restaurants?”

“Stupid little thing must be lost.”

Klaus _is_ lost. He’s never been to Texas before, and he doesn’t exactly know how to cope with the fact that he’s making milk again.

But the sting of humiliation is nothing new. It’s happened so many times over the years that it’s almost comfortingly familiar.

What’s new is the way the cop suddenly ducks his head and takes one of Klaus’ teats into his mouth. How he closes his lips around it and sucks, like he’s trying to use a straw in a very cold milkshake. Klaus feels fingers pinch the base of his teat and slide firmly along the length of it. And then suddenly he feels his milk spurt into the cop’s mouth. 

No one has ever drunk from him before. His milkings had always been done by Grace, who gently pulled his teats until his udder slackened and the pail beneath him was full of milk. Then, after all the drugs dried him up, there had been men who liked to lick over the small nubs of his teats. They would stroke his belly between his hips where the texture of his skin was different, where his udder was never completely flat.

But he’s never felt the sensation of milk being sucked from his udder. It’s more amazing than he could have imagined, and it only gets better as the sucking continues and his milk begins to flow more steadily. In spite of himself, Klaus starts to writhe. His cunt, hidden in the shadow of his udder, is throbbing now, and Klaus can’t help rolling his hips.

There’s a little chuckle from the mouth around his teat. Then his pants are shimmied further down his legs and fingers are being pushed gracelessly into his pussy. Klaus gasps, startled by how good it feels, how soaking wet he is already. His entire body feels electric and oversensitized, coursing with pleasure from the pressure on his teat. He rocks himself eagerly against the fingers inside of him, and when he moans it sounds suspiciously like a moo.

“Woah, Bessie,” the cop says, pulling his hand away, looking down at Klaus disapprovingly. “Forgotten yourself, haven’t you?”

Klaus is panting, staring up at the cop in a daze. “Please,” he breathes, unable to understand why there’s no hand rubbing his pussy, no hot mouth on his teat. “Please, I want it.” He’s desperate for the probing fingers again, for someone—anyone—to suck his teats and drink his milk.

He’s begged for pleasure plenty of times in his short life. He’s even deigned to beg cops, if it meant they went easy on him. But his voice has never sounded so wrecked. He’s never truly wanted it as badly as he does now, because he never knew how good it felt to have his teats sucked.

“Sweet Jesus,” the partner says, from somewhere off to the side. “Is it normal for cows to act like this?”

“Shoot, I don’t know,” the cop grunts. “But I wouldn’t tolerate such a lack of decorum from my own wife. It’s distasteful.”

“...I would.”

“Then fuck it for all I care. It’s all yours.”

Klaus can barely process the conversation, struggling as he is to think past the throbbing of his clit. All he understands is that he has the chance to be fucked, and he can’t help whining desperately for it.

“What are we gonna do with it?” the partner asks. “Are we taking it to the station?”

“Hell, let’s just take it to the farm off the interstate,” the cop says. “I’m sure the Coopers would be glad to have another milking cow, and no one has to know we had any part in it.”

The words don’t register in Klaus’ mind. He can’t focus on anything besides the man taking the cop’s place between his knees. He whines in anticipation and then, as pleasure floods his body, his panting gives way to debauched mooing.


End file.
